


Cold Tonight

by jj_minerva



Category: Sacred Band of Stepsons - Janet Morris, Thieves' World - Various Authors
Genre: M/M, Set after Thieves World 12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-31
Updated: 2011-01-31
Packaged: 2017-10-15 06:29:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/157974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jj_minerva/pseuds/jj_minerva





	Cold Tonight

“By Vashanka’s third and hairy ball, it’s cold tonight.”

Critias looked up from the inventory of weapons he was studying to find the big frame of Straton, his right side partner, filling the doorway to the small room where Crit was billeted.

“Mind if I bunk here with you?” Strat continued, blue eyes focused on the small bed barely big enough for two.

Crit ran a hand through his feathery hair. “Feeling the cold?” he asked, knowing that was only part of the reason Straton had abandoned his own bed to seek him out.

“Yeah, this place is colder than a…” Straton trailed off, unable to finish the old saying.

 _Witches tit_ , Crit thought to himself, although in Strat’s case a certain witch had proved to be anything but cold. And therein lay the other reason the Strat had come slinking to Crit’s bed tonight. _Ischade._

Crit fought back a flare of anger. Ischade, witch and necromant, was Crit’s nemisis, the one thing that had ever come between him and his partner Straton.

They were two of Tempus’ original Stepsons. Critias, remaining half of a Scared Band pair that had followed Abarsis and Straton one of the thirty single mercs who had fought by their side. Crit had sworn never to take another partner but somehow Straton had slipped past his guard and they had been together ever since.

But a chill had settled over their relationship and Ischade was the cause. She’d seduced Strat, ensorcelled him with sex and spells until he couldn’t think straight. It left him open to all manner of dangers and the witch’s curse was only one. They had enemies in Sanctuary, men who’d do anything to see a Stepson suffer and bleed. It was only a matter of time before one caught Strat off guard. 

Strat had survived and Crit had threatened to kill Ischade. In desperation he had even gone so far as to offer himself to her in Strat’s place; an offer the witch had refused.

Now they were finally away from that hell hole, Sanctuary, away from the clutches of the necromant who swore she had no hold left on Strat and that she had severed all spells that bound him to her. Crit considered himself lucky that his partnership with Straton survived. But the damage was done and it went far deeper than Strat’s bolt shot shoulder. By all that was holy, Strat should be dead from that cursed witch’s curse but here he stood, looking …. _forlorn._

Crit felt his anger fade away. Strat had never looked so lost and vunerable as he had in these last few weeks. Ischade may have left Straton with his life, but how much of his heart and soul had she taken?

Strat looked at the bed again and then back at Crit with hopeful eyes. Crit nodded. “Go on, I’m just finishing.”  Strat lost no time stripping his cloak, chitton and loinguard.

“I thought you were cold?” Crit asked, watching the flow of lamplight over Strat’s fair skin

“Better to be naked if we’re going to share body heat. Any merc worth his salt knows that.” Strat’s muscles rippled as he slid into Crit’s bed.

Critias shuffled his papers around, not wanting to appear too eager. Was this Strat’s attempt to make things right between them or was he just lonely and missing the witch? 

Crit extinguished the lamp and shed his clothes in the darkness. In silence he climbed in beside Strat, the bed frame creaking in protest. Strat turned on his side and settled close, his head coming to rest on Crit’s shoulder.

There was an irony in Straton, a skilled interrogator who knew the ways of torture and cruelty, yet also someone who could be so gentle and loving. Few saw that side Strat, the man who would rescue a kitten from a canal, or a bird from a thorn bush. Even less could claim to be the recipient of that gentleness. Critias could and he cherished moments such as these with Strat’s big hands playing softly in the dark hair of his chest.  Crit wondered if Ischade had ever known Strat’s gentleness or if their lust had been based on power and pain. He’d seen the marks and bruises left after their encounters, signs of possession that Strat tried to hide. No, perhaps he alone was privy to this hidden side of his partner, the sensitive centre of his soul.

And in a wave of understanding Crit knew why Strat had sought his bed tonight. Strat missed Ischade, missed her more than the lust and danger, more than the carnal pleasure. Strat missed _her_.  He had loved the witch and probably still did.

That knowledge should have left Crit cold, but it didn’t. For women or witches would never come between them. They would come and go, like Kama the Riddler’s daughter who had dallied with Crit a while. Kama, who had carried Crit’s child but lost it on a battlefield. Crit knew what it was to grieve just as Strat was grieving now. Straton had sought out the one person he knew would not judge him or ask questions, the one person who would accept and understand – his left side partner, Critias. 

And Crit would honour that trust.

Their relationship was complicated, neither one thing nor the other but encompassing many layers and permutations. Comrades, brothers, friends, partners, two planets circling Tempus’ sun.  But sometimes, on rare occasions like now, they found themselves in alignment and their relationship took on deeper meaning.

Crit turned his head, placed a gentle kiss upon Strat’s forehead and let his own hands roam where they would, hoping his touch would say all the things he could never voice.  Strat responded like a big cat, arching in to Crit’s caress, purring low in his throat.  Their hands became daring, seeking out intimate places, long remembered touches that brought pleasure and comfort.

They never asked for more, never demanding the surrender and possession of each other’s body. Other stepson pairs might thrill to the thought of physical joining, but for Crit and Strat, such an act carried echoes of battle, the vanquished and the vanquisher. They longed for something _other._ For them, touch was enough. They had no need for speech, lips and tongues had better uses. Words just got in the way. Their hands said far more than their mouths ever could.

 Under the cover of darkness they felt their way to ecstasy and release.

And as they lay together afterwards, Strat spoke, voice rusty and uncertain. “I miss her, Crit.” There was a pause, and Critias held his breath, surprised by Strat’s rare attempt at sharing, fearful of what was to come. “I thought of staying in Sanctuary, even now I’ve thought of going back, alone.”

Crit swallowed, his throat closing up, heart beating faster.  He couldn’t imagine life without Strat. Didn’t want to.

“And I realised something tonight, just before I …got cold…” Again that pause as Strat searched for words.

Was this goodbye? Crit closed his eyes, knowing that if Straton left a part of Critias would die.  The rest of him would follow at their next battle. He couldn’t live without Strat. They been together for so long, even before they had been officially paired.

“I miss Ischade so much,” Strat’s voice wavered. “But….I’d miss you more.” And with those words, the big Stepson gathered Crit to his chest and held him tight.  

“I know, Strat,” was all Crit needed to say.

Critias lay awake long after Straton’s breathing had evened out and his partner had fallen asleep.  Tomorrow things would be back to normal, life would continue, battles would be fought, women and witches would come and go.  But tonight they had shared a moment of pure peace and that was what they would remember until the next time they came together like this.

With his head now resting on Strat’s broad chest, Crit listened to the strong heart beating in counterpoint to his own and offered up a prayer to any Gods who were listening, thankful they were no longer cold tonight.

The End

31st January 2011


End file.
